


Steadfast Like the Sea

by RavenWhitecastle



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big Bang Challenge, M/M, Siren John Reese, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 08:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/RavenWhitecastle
Summary: The last thing Harold remembers is blue.When Harold wakes up in triage after the orchestrated hit on his friend Nathan, Harold has to leave his life, friend, and fiance behind. The only thing he takes with him is the memory of blue. But starting over isn't easy, and something keeps calling Harold back to the sea. That's where he meets John.John is all taut muscles and golden skin and blue and gold scales. A siren, cursed to roam the sea, haunted and alone. But John is drawn to Harold like a moth to a flame. He can't stay away as hard as he tries, and Harold keeps coming back.Like ships in a storm, the universe keeps putting John and Harold together. But the more Harold learns, the more he wonders if the John he knows is the man John really is. In a story about longing, love, and broken hearts, John and Harold will find out if love can be steadfast like the sea. (Takes heavy inspiration from Siren's Lament by instantmiso on Webtoons!)





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to DesireeArmfeldt for beta reading!

_New York City. September 26th, 2010._

The last thing Harold remembered was blue.

He remembered being on the pier. He remembered seeing Nathan, and he remembered the explosion. But the last thing he remembered before waking up in triage was blue. At first, he thought it was the blue of the sky or the blue of the water. But when he closed his eyes, Harold saw sharp, piercing, iridescent blue, like nothing he’d ever seen.

The next thing Harold knew was pain. It was shooting down his neck, his back, his leg. He gasped at how sharp the pain was, radiating from the base of his skull. Wincing, he reached up to feel something warm and sticky. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were dripping with blood.

Harold started panicking. He saw people right in front of him, bleeding and crying, but he didn’t see his friend. “Nathan?” he whimpered. When no one answered, his whimper turned into a desperate cry. “Nathan!”

All at once, a doctor was at his side, holding his wrist. “Don’t move,” she instructed him. You’ve been in an accident.”

Harold  _knew_ he’d been in an accident, he’d been there, but more importantly, Nathan had been there, too. “I have to find my friend…”

“Sir,” she said softly, her voice infuriatingly level in the midst of all the chaos, “I just need you to lie still for me. Okay? You’ve sustained injuries to your neck and lower back. Do you understand?”

Harold stared up at her with wide eyes, but before he could ask her anything, her attention was called away by another medic. She glanced up before looking back.

“Don’t move,” she said, “I’ll be right back,” before she stood up and rushed away. He reached out to her, but she was already gone.

Gritting his teeth, Harold used his arm to stabilize his head as best he could. It hurt, his whole right side hurt, but Nathan was too important. When he rolled onto his side, he saw Nathan, strapped to a gurney. Harold’s heart skipped. His friend was there, he wasn’t lost in the water, but he was terribly still and his eyes were closed. “Nathan?” Harold murmured, just as the sheet was pulled up over Nathan’s head.

 _No._ Heart sinking, Harold watched as Nathan’s lifeless body was rolled away. Harold felt his eyes start to well up. Things weren’t supposed to go like this Sick to his stomach, Harold cursed the heavens and then himself. Without Harold and his ridiculous machine, Nathan never would have been at the pier in the first place.

Harold didn’t have time to mourn. The next thing his eyes landed on was a pair of men in long coats with earbuds. They were watching Nathan, too. One of them was on the phone. Squinting, Harold studied them and overheard the one on the phone say, “It’s done. We’ll find out if he talked to anyone and take care of them, too.”

A pit formed in the bottom of Harold’s stomach. He set his jaw as the men walked away. The ferry explosion had been a hit, not an accident or a terrorist attack. Which meant Harold had no time to lose.

As soon as the men were out of sight, Harold threw off the blanket covering his legs. Grasping his neck, he managed to sit up. His head was swimming, but he couldn’t stop. He stood, his leg barely holding him up. Mercifully, there was a crutch in front of him. He took it, taking the weight off his leg. It helped with movement, but not with the pain. He kept moving anyway. He didn’t have a choice.

A familiar voice stopped him. “Harold?” He froze in place behind a divider.  _Grace._ His eyes darted from side to side. “Harold?” She sounded so scared, so frightened, and Harold wanted nothing more than to run to her side, to let her know that he was okay, but he couldn’t. He would risk being spotted and endangering her, too.

Her footsteps shuffled away, and he ducked out from behind the divider with his heart in his throat to see her searching for him. “Harold…” Her voice cracked, and his heart clenched.

Grace stopped an officer crossing the floor. “Help, please,” she said, “I think my fianc é was on the ferry. Do you know where-”

The officer cut her off. “I’m sorry. This is everybody we pulled out of the water.”

The men that had come after Nathan appeared, but Harold couldn’t tear himself away. Grace must have come as soon as she heard, dropped everything to come find him. His loving Grace, loyal to a fault.

“If you don’t see him,” the officer was saying, “the personal effects we recovered are over there.”

Harold watched breathlessly as Grace rushed to the pile of belongings. Almost immediately, she saw the book that Harold had used to propose to her. She opened it with shaking hands, the water-damaged pages falling open to reveal the hole for the ring box.

Harold gasped. Her name caught in his throat. He wanted to call out to her, comfort her, but it was dangerous, far too dangerous.

Grace looked around, helpless and lost, her lower lip trembling. Harold watched, his heart breaking, as she started to cry. Her hands came up to her head in grief. Harold swallowed.  _Grace…_

He was out of time. Forcing himself to walk away, he limped to the door. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. The only thing keeping him moving was the thought of the men coming after him going after her, too. He wouldn’t endanger her, wouldn’t put her life on the line. He’d just lost Nathan. He refused to lose her, too, even if he couldn’t be with her.

There was nothing left for him there, but when he went, he left a part of his heart behind.

  

With a coat he found at the entrance and none of his personal effects, Harold fled. If his belongings were among the items dredged from the water, he would be assumed dead, and the men who went after Nathan wouldn’t come after him. He tried to think about staying alive, instead of thinking about Grace.

Harold limped back to the library, which took him longer than he would have liked, but he had no money to take a cab and nowhere else to go. After a couple blocks, the pain became an afterthought, as did the dried blood on his clothes. Harold focused on moving forward, one line in the sidewalk at a time, until he was safe again.

He slipped out of consciousness in the elevator, the ding jarring him awake when he arrived on his floor. Blinking, he stumbled to the office. He saw the computer on the desk, the Machine’s code running passively in the background. Lips pursed, Harold shuffled to the chair and collapsed into it. He panted a few times, trying to catch his breath. Glaring into the computer’s webcam, he growled, “Did you know?”

The Machine woke up, and the interface laptop whirred to life, displaying the time on the screen. It read 11:59:22 PM.

Shaking, Harold input the command, “resume contingency.” The computer started to hum as the Machine retrieved the data from its memory banks.

LOADING KERNEL

CONTINGENCY ACTIVE

ACCESSING NON-RELEVANT DATA…

The screen filled with a list of blanked out Social Security numbers. Harold scrolled until he saw the one he was looking for, xxx-xx-1860. Heart pounding, Harold clicked on it. Nathan’s face appeared, and a smaller window popped up below it, bearing the words “NON-RELEVANT.”

Harold stared at the photo, swallowing the lump in his throat. Nathan had been the one to program the back-up system and access the Machine’s back door. Nathan had been the one who suggested using the Machine to save people that the government would not. And Nathan was dead because Harold had refused.

The time clicked to 11:59:59 PM. The photo and the numbers all vanished as the Machine’s system reset.

REINSTANTIATING SYSTEM.

DELETING NON-RELEVANT DATA…

TIME 12:00:00 AM.

Harold stared at the now empty screen. He felt hot tears threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. He couldn’t move. The seconds ticked away. His heart throbbed in his chest.   
“What have I done?”

  

Harold started over, when he found the strength to leave his study again. Harold Martin died with Nathan Ingram at the ferry that fateful day, and Harold Finch was born. He created a whole new identity for himself, complete with a driver’s license and passport. He acquired all the equipment he would need to implement his new plan. With Nathan Ingram’s death and Harold Finch’s beginning came a new purpose.

Harold couldn’t save Nathan. He couldn’t change the past, as much as he wished he could go back. But Harold could honor Nathan by following his dying wish and saving as many people as he could. Harold threw himself into his work, learning how to run background checks on the numbers the Machine provided.

When Harold wasn’t working, he was drawn to the sea. He thought maybe he should have been afraid of the water after what had happened at the pier. He wondered why he didn’t panic at the sight of the turbulent waves. But something drew him there, and there was something soothing about the way the water rushed to the shore. Brighton Beach was only a half an hour away. Harold would take a cab when the sky was a muted grey and the beach was mostly empty, save for the occasional dedicated jogger.

Despite the increasingly cold weather, Harold braved the wind to clear his head. He found that he couldn’t stay away even if he tried. Something called him back to the waterfront. So he bundled up in a hat, scarf, and overcoat, and wandered the empty shore.

There were no cameras on the beach. A few hung at places along the boardwalk, but the Machine couldn’t see him when he followed the path along the water’s edge, walking from one dock to the other.

So the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when one day he felt like he was being watched.

He knew the feeling well, having tested the Machine’s programming in all the corners of New York City, teaching it hide and seek and testing its limitations. The sensation of cameras following his every move had become familiar after a while. It had faded somewhat when they’d sold the Machine, but Harold was still aware of its presence. The beach had become an escape from being under constant surveillance. He went on gloomy days when the sandy shores were deserted, and for once in his life, he’d felt like he was alone.

But one day he didn’t feel alone anymore, even though there were no cameras on the beach.

  

_New York City. September 26th, 2010._

Something called John to the pier that day.

It was the same force that had called him back to New York City after he woke up on the ocean floor with no memory of who he was or how he got there. He swam until the Statue of Liberty rose above him like it was welcoming him home.

The same pull called him to a place somewhere upriver. He rarely swam so far inland for fear of being seen by humans, but he couldn’t stop himself. With his tail driving him forward, he found himself under a ferry station, and a crowded one at that. Everything in him was telling him to swim as far away as he could as fast as his tail would take him, but the one thing making him stay was stronger than all of his panic. He wondered why he was there, why he had been drawn so far away from his cave.

He got his answer when the pier above him shook. He heard the screams as the columns started to collapse. John barely managed to dodge the falling debris, and he ducked under the approaching ferry for shelter. The boardwalk slid into the water and bodies started falling in.

That was when John saw the man in the glasses.

John was driven from shelter to the man’s side, his heart racing. The man was unconscious and bleeding, but John couldn’t look away. The man’s vest was tattered, but it suited him well. It matched the Oxfords on his feet and the pair of glasses that had slipped off of his face, hooked on his ear.

John carefully took the glasses and put them back in place before dragging the man up towards the sky. They broke the surface, John holding the man up above him so as not to be seen. He swam as close to the pier as he dared. The man was still not breathing, and all of a sudden, John had to save him, not as an act of heroism, but out of a desperation that he couldn’t explain.

John pushed the man’s unconscious body onto a section of boardwalk that was still standing. Looking around, John tried to find a source of help, but the majority of people around were knocked out or stumbling away from the blaze.

Frantically, John hoisted himself halfway out of the water, careful to keep his tail submerged, and pressed down on the man’s chest with both hands, trying to force the water out of his lungs.

To John’s relief, the man coughed, expelling the water and drinking in fresh air in shaky gasps, John sighed, glad that the man was safe for the time being.

The man’s eyes fluttered open for a brief moment and locked with John’s. John blinked, unable to move. The man looked at him, searching John’s face for a just a few seconds before his eyes closed again and his head lolled to the side. For a moment, John wanted the man to wake up again, to look in his eyes, to say John’s name.

His thoughts were interrupted by the approaching sirens, and he dove back under, hiding beneath the boardwalk. He poked his head out from under the water. The man was still above him, breathing raggedly. A few moments later, a first responder walked across the wood above John’s head. He flinched, but the responder was too focused on the disaster to see John peeking up between the boards.

“We got one over here!” the responder called. A few more people rushed over. “Wound to the neck, possible spinal injury. I need a backboard and a gurney, stat!”

John retreated to a safe distance and watched as the EMTs loaded the man up and rolled him away to triage. John felt something in his chest tighten as he watched them disappear. He wished desperately to follow, and the pull was so strong that he almost did. But self-preservation as well as his lack of legs prevented him. So John lingered for a while at a safe distance until they started dredging the water, forcing him to swim back out to sea. As he swam away, he hoped against hope that he would see the man in the glasses again.

  

John liked to people watch. He’d done a lot of it in his time spent roaming the sea. He’d travelled along the cape of Africa and watched the people there. He’d watched the people in Europe, and when he returned to what he could only describe as home, he watched the people there, too. He liked watching the people of New York the most. They called the city a melting pot, a diverse cultural epicenter. All kinds of people came to the beach on sunny days, lounging and playing on Brighton Beach. He watched from underneath the dock as people swam and splashed. The summers passed quickly, but then autumn came and the people wandering the shore were few and far between.

So John was surprised to see someone walking unsteadily down along the sea on a rainy day in October, wearing a long black coat and a matching hat. The only people that braved the stormy winter days were runners, but this person was bundled up and limping along beside the waves.

John couldn’t resist swimming closer. He knew he was being reckless, it was a dangerous and unnecessary risk, but he felt the same call he’d felt that day on the pier. It seemed to pull him forward against his will, and it didn’t take him long to catch up.

John’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized the human as the man in the glasses. There was something different about him, something John couldn’t place. It was almost like an aura, a frame of light surrounding him that drew John in like a moth to a flame.

The man walked closer to the waves, looking pensively out to sea. John wondered if the limp was a result of the blast that had knocked the man into the water.

John’s heart clenched, and he tore his eyes away. He had no reason to feel any sort of pity or camaraderie with the man. And yet John’s tail seemed to ache in sympathy, in the scarred places along his rigid scales and the scratches along his fin. John grit his teeth and dove back under, swimming down, down, down until he reached a rocky overhang under the pier that he called his own. It wasn’t much- just a shelf carved into the land that served as a place to sleep. Not that John slept very much anyway. He was kept awake by the flashes of memory he couldn’t place. The feeling of silky blonde hair between his fingers. The smell of gunpowder. The color beige. Nothing he saw in his dreams made any sense.

But that night, John was haunted by the image of the man in the glasses. John could remember every detail- the way he stood, the way he hugged his coat closely around him. The set of his jaw against the bitter ocean wind.   
John didn’t sleep at all that night.

  

The man returned to Brighton Beach from time to time, and as hard as John tired, he couldn’t keep himself from surfacing to watch. John would watch as the man limped along, his cane leaving little hills in the wet sand. John watched when the man paused and stared out at the ocean, gray and churning. He would watch the man adjust his glasses before walking to the other dock, just like clockwork.

One day, John watched too closely.

At low tide, John was resting on an exposed rock when the man in the glasses came back. At the first sign of movement, John dove back under the water, but like always, he poked his head out to see. Like always, his heart fluttered at the sight of the man’s familiar gait, limping in John’s direction with his head down. John swam closer. Despite never meeting or speaking, seeing the man always felt like coming home. There was something warm about being near him.

Leaning heavily on his cane, the man gazed out towards the horizon. He paused not too far from the rock where John had been resting. John swam closer to get a better look, clinging to the rock for support. The man looked tired. He sighed heavily, his back hunched. He was tilted to the left, weighing on his good leg, his cane clutched in his black glove clad right hand. The man’s lips were set in a hard line as his eyes swept across the water. The lines on his face made him look older.

 _The lines on his face._ John could see the lines on his face. He was too close. Even with his heightened senses, John shouldn’t have been able to see the man’s face in such detail.

Quickly, John flipped back under the water, praying that he hadn’t been spotted. His tail made a loud splash as he swam to the other side of the rock, and he winced.

“Hello?” the man in the glasses called. John sank further down, his tail brushing the ocean floor. The waves carried the man’s voice to him. He didn’t sound scared or confused, to John’s great relief. The man sounded curious, like he might like to meet John, and for a moment, John was tempted to surface. He pressed his back against the rock, the jagged edges digging into his shoulders and keeping him grounded. John waited. And waited. After forever, he surfaced. The man in the glasses was gone.

  

Harold kept going back to the beach, even after imagining he’d heard something in the water. He chalked it up to his nerves, as on edge as he was after the incident at the pier. Like he had before, he got used the sensation of someone or something watching him, even though this time he wasn’t sure what it was. The presence, for lack of a better word, wasn’t malicious, or at least Harold didn’t think it was. It could have been a seagull, for all he knew. He would have been all right with that.  _Larus argentatus_ , or the herring gull, was a bird he was quite familiar with. It was the species closest to what most people pictured when imagining seagulls, with the grey and white colouring and yellow beaks. Of course, there were several types of gull the frequented New York’s beaches including  _larus delawarensis_ and  _larus marinus_. Harold was the most fond of  _leucophaeus atricilla_ , or the laughing gull, with its distinct colouring and unique cry that sounded like cackling-   
Harold was torn from his thoughts by more splashing. He stopped looking towards the sky and stared at the rock that he passed every time he visited the beach. It jutted out of the water several yards away, all black and jagged. He wanted to call out again, but he resisted. He was being ridiculous.   
Shaking his head, Harold started walking again. When he heard another splash, he whipped around as fast as his leg would allow. All he saw was the rock. The rock looked back at him, silently judging him for how suspicious he was. Harold narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled.

“Like what?” the rock asked.   
Harold yelped and stumbled backwards a step, his heart racing. He calmed a bit when he saw a face near the base of the rock in the water. His first thought was that he was grateful he hadn’t lost his mind. His second thought was that the man in the water probably had.

Breathing heavily, Harold adjusted his glasses. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

The man shrugged one bare shoulder. “Nice day for a swim,” he answered casually, his voice soft, almost teasing. He smiled a crooked grin.

Harold took a few steps forward, and it was only then he realized that the man in the water was totally shirtless, despite the water being frigid. Harold couldn’t fathom what the man was doing in the water in the first place, but he didn’t look cold or bothered by the weather. In fact, he looked perfectly comfortable floating in the water. Something silver dangled around his neck. The end was resting against his chest under the surface of the sea.

“Are you crazy?” Harold exclaimed, “You’ll catch your death out there!” When the man just tilted his head, Harold cleared his throat and tried again. “What’s your name?”

“John.”

 _John_. John was good looking for a crazy person, or at least Harold thought so. Wide eyes, a strong jaw, and salt and pepper hair with water droplets still clinging to it-

Blinking, Harold mentally berated himself for getting so distracted. Whatever was keeping John alive probably wasn’t going to last much longer. “I’m Harold. Why don’t you come back inland, John?” he suggested, gesturing for John to swim towards the shore. “We can get you warmed up and maybe you can tell me what you were doing out there over a hot cup of tea.” And maybe, once he was sure John wasn’t going to die, Harold could leave him for the police to deal with.

John shook his head. “I’m fine right here.” His eyes softened. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Harold  _was_ worried, and he was certain he was running out of time. Then Harold had a crazy idea, something so crazy that it just might work. He pursed it was lips. It wasn’t great, but it was the only idea he had. “If you won’t come out,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “Then… then I’m coming in.”

John’s eyes widened. “What?”

With renewed determination, Harold began taking off his clothes, starting with his hat before removing his coat. “Nice day for a swim, right?” his teeth already chattering a little, “I think I’ll join you.”

“No, don’t!” John cried, stopping Harold as he was reaching for his right shoe. Harold looked up to see John watching him, hands outstretched. Harold stood up straight, and John swallowed. “I… I’m coming out.

  

Gratefully, Harold replaced his coat and hat. The short time exposed to the bitter wind had left him stiff and shaking. He waited, watching as John swam away from the rock towards the shore.

As John swam forward, Harold noticed two things. The first thing he noticed was that John wasn’t rising. If John had been walking out of the ocean, the incline would have brought him up and out of the water. But John remained oddly close to the sand.

The second thing Harold noticed was the color of John’s eyes. Harold almost didn’t believe it, but as John got closer, Harold recognized the bright and iridescent blue. The same blue that was so familiar and so haunting, littered with flecks of gold.

Harold’s heart skipped a beat before tripping over itself and beating twice as fast. “You,” Harold breathed, and John paused. “You were at the pier that day.”

John nodded, his eyes searching Harold’s face. “Yes.”

“Did you pull me out of the water?” John nodded again. Harold swallowed. “Thank you.”

This time, John stopped, still too far out for Harold to reach out and touch or pull to shore. “This is as far as I can go.”

Brow furrowing, Harold shook his head. “You have to get out of the water,” he argued, “You’ll freeze!”

“No, I won’t,” John said, shaking his head. Harold glared at him and reached for his hat, threatening to go in after John himself. Sighing, John conceded. “All right, fine.” John looked up and down the beach before looking back at Harold. Harold swore that John’s eyes darkened, that the flecks of gold got brighter and his irises shifted and swirled.

Using his arms, John hauled himself out of the water. When he got himself out past his torso, Harold gasped.

Harold couldn’t believe his eyes. Where John’s waist ended and his hips began, his tan, freckled skin melded into blue and gold scales that matched his eyes. Where his legs should have been was a long and muscular tail. It lifted out of the water, still dripping wet.

Staggering backwards, Harold tripped on his cane and fell to the ground with a cry. John lunged forward as if to help, but he stopped, unable to stand. They stared at each other, lips parted, breathing heavily.

Adjusting his glasses again, Harold murmured, “You… you’re a… a mermaid.”

“I would technically be a mer  _man_ ,” John said, glaring up at Harold through dark lashes, “but no. I’m a siren.” He flapped his tail as if to demonstrate the point. Even though the sun was obscured by cloud cover, his scales glimmered and winked.

Harold gaped. He couldn’t hold back a dumbfounded laugh. “I really am going crazy.”

Shaking his head again, John replied, “No you’re not. I’m as real as all the other humans in New York. I’m just… less human.”

 _Human_. John used the word so flippantly. Before then, Harold had always thought there was nothing else anyone could be. But clearly, he’d been wrong.

“A siren?” Harold managed, “Are you going to… to lure me into the water and drown me?”

There was that crooked smile again. It looked good on John, and Harold’s heart skipped another beat. “If I was going to do that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Sitting up straighter, Harold stretched out his bad leg, fixed his hat. “I guess that’s fair.” He had so many questions, so many things he didn’t understand. “How can you understand me?”

John raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m American,” he answered, his smile widening. “We’re still part human, Harold.”

“We?” Harold exclaimed, “There’s more of you?”

John shrugged. “I would assume so. I don’t know how sirens are made, but I don’t think we just pop out of caves in the ocean.”

Harold chuckled. John had a sense of humor. And Harold was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure John hadn’t been planning on drowning him before. John’s eyes twinkled, and Harold flushed.

He was about to ask John another question, something about where he had come from if he was American, but something down the beach drew his attention. He looked up to see a jogger all in thermal black coming down the shore. There was a splash, and when Harold looked back, John was gone just as quickly as he had appeared.

Harold cursed under his breath. He waited until the jogger had passed, and then waited a little longer for good measure, before calling out again, “John?” He waited. Nothing happened.

After watching the waves for a bit longer, Harold dragged himself to his feet and dusted himself off. The air wasn’t getting any warmer and his leg was starting to ache. He couldn’t linger.

On the cab ride  home, Harold wondered if the encounter with John had happened it all.

  

John was being stupid.

Not only had he revealed himself to the man in the glasses, but he had almost been spotted by  _another_ human in the process.

 _Harold_. The man in the glasses was called Harold. John cursed. It made it harder to distance himself from the man now that he had a name. John swam back and forth in front of his cave, restless and agitated.

He hadn’t meant to get so close. He’d been watching like he usually did, as the man in the glasses looked out to sea, but he’d gotten too close, and then the man had spoken. “  _Don’t look at me like that._ ”

John had known the man wasn’t talking to him. He had been talking to the rock, the way people talk to their pets, or the way John talked to the creatures on the ocean floor.

But John hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d answered like a fool. And now he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation over and over again.

Harold’s voice. Harold’s suit. Harold’s hands as he unbuttoned his jacket. Harold’s eyes as he looked at John’s tail.

John’s  _tail_. John resisted the urge to bang his head against the rock wall of his cave. He had revealed himself to a human. Not just any human, John admitted, but John could only imagine the consequences of revealing himself. At best, he’d cause fear and speculation, and become an urban legend like the Loch Ness monster. At worst, he’d be dragged from the sea and become a science experiment in a lab.

So  _why_ had he revealed himself?

The short answer was because Harold had been willing to risk his life for John’s. The long answer was because Harold had been willing to risk his life for John’s, and John couldn’t think of anybody that would consider John worth saving. While John might have been quite comfortable in the water, exposure could have been fatal to Harold. And yet, even though John was a total stranger to Harold, he had almost walked into the ocean just to pull John out.

John cursed himself for putting Harold in danger. If he hadn’t spoken, Harold wouldn’t have almost come into the water after him.

But as he replayed everything that had happened, he settled on his shelf and felt warmth blossom in his chest. Not only had Harold wanted to save John from freezing to death, Harold had been awestruck at the sight of John’s tail. And Harold had stayed. Harold had asked questions, wanted to know more about sirens, and about John. John’s heart had stopped at the way Harold looked at him.

John knew it was foolish. But he wanted nothing more than to see that look again.

  

Harold returned less than a week later with hopes of seeing John again. He wasn’t sure of the proper protocol for meeting with a siren, but on a whim he brought donuts. He hoped John like donuts. He’d bought a dozen, just to be on the safe side.

With his box of donuts and a hot tea for himself, Harold waited by the rock where John had been the time before. It seemed like a bit of a long shot, especially since Harold wasn’t sure John even existed. But, because he was waiting for the Machine to execute his latest portion of code and because, real or not, Harold wanted to see John again, Harold waited.

His patience was rewarded when a familiar face peeked out from behind the rock. There was John’s salt and pepper hair, there was John’s angular jaw, there were John’s hypnotic eyes. At the sight of those familiar blue irises, Harold felt a wave of what he could only describe as relief.

Trying to refrain from scaring the siren off, Harold smiled as he held out his box as a peace offering. “Do you like donuts?”

Glancing across the beach to make sure Harold was alone, John emerged from his hiding place. After a few seconds without being tackled or entangled in a net, John grinned. Harold’s heart stumbled. “How did you know?” John asked, swimming forward.

Harold shrugged. “Lucky guess.” Limping closer, he managed to settle himself down close enough to the water to set the donuts between them once John had joined him on shore. Opening the box, he gestured at the available options. “I didn’t know what you would prefer,” he offered, “so I… got one of everything.”

Eyes twinkling, John selected the one with pink frosting and sprinkles. Harold picked a cruller for himself, and took a bite as they fell into amiable silence.

Now that Harold’s head wasn’t spinning as his entire world view was rearranged, Harold was able to get a better look at all of John. More specifically, John’s tail. He’d seen it once before, but he’d missed so many details, like the way it extended far past the point where John’s feet would have been, or how the gold scales peeked out from beneath the blue ones like tiny moons, and how the blue scales glinted and shifted in time with the lapping of the waves on the beach. Harold’s eyes widened when they landed on John’s fin. The webbing was tattered and torn, full of holes edged with pale blue scar tissue. The longer he looked, the more scarring he saw, up John’s tail and even along his torso.

Swallowing, Harold raised his eyes as his face flushed. His attention was drawn by the shiny silver ornament around John’s neck. He’d caught a glimpse of it before. Up close, Harold realized that it was a pair of dog tags. Some of the scars suddenly made sense.

“You were a soldier,” Harold murmured.

“Hm?” John looked up from the donut he’d been devouring, a custard filled one. He’d devoured the first one shamelessly. Having forgotten the taste of human food, he’d been distracted by cakey sweetness until Harold had spoken again. John glanced at the spot Harold was staring at- his necklace. “This?” He picked it up with his free hand, the tags resting in his palm. “I don’t know. I don’t really remember. I just figured this was my name. I don’t know what the rest of it means.”

Scooting closer, Harold held out a tentative hand. “May I see?”

John looked at him with those eyes, and Harold stopped breathing. John’s eyes searched Harold’s face intensely, looking for something. Harold wasn’t sure what John was looking for, but apparently he found it because he removed the tags and placed them in Harold’s open palm. John’s fingers were cold for the brief second they brushed Harold’s skin, but Harold felt colder after John pulled away. Harold forced himself to look away and read the tags.

TALLIS

JOHN H.

380-00-0050

O POS

CATHOLIC

Harold took his time reading the information and committing it to memory. He briefly wondered if John knew what he was entrusting to Harold. Then again, Harold had already seen more of John than anyone else probably ever had.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, returning the tags to John.

John finished his second donut before replacing the tags around his neck. “What about you?” he asked.

“Pardon?” Harold blinked at the siren.

“I was a soldier, or at least that’s what you said. So what do you do?”

Harold sighed. “That’s kind of a big question.” John raised an eyebrow at him. “The short answer, I suppose, is nothing.”

“And the long answer?”   
Harold hesitated. The only other person who knew about his work, as well as the extent of it outside of the law, was dead now. He regarded John for a long moment. John had trusted Harold with his true identity. Didn’t Harold owe him the truth?

“It’s a long story,” Harold warned.

John shrugged, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’ve got time.”

Taking a deep breath, Harold let the words tumble out. As best he could, Harold explained what he’d been doing for the past eight years of his life. He told John about the Machine, and he even told John about Grace. He paused at the thought of Grace, alone and in mourning. To his credit, John didn’t say anything when Harold reached up to wipe his eyes before moving on to tell John about wanting to help people.

It was freeing, being able to tell someone about the work he’d done, and the work he wanted to do. Harold believed with all of his heart that he could trust John, and trust John he did.

“It was Nathan’s idea,” he said, after explaining the irrelevant numbers and how he accessed them, “I believe that honoring his wishes is the least I can do.”

After a moment, John reached over to put his hand on Harold’s. When Harold looked up, John was watching him with shining eyes that looked more black than blue. “You’re a good man,” he said.

Harold shook his head. “I let Nathan down. I wouldn’t listen to what he had to say. I was too late.”

Studying Harold’s profile, John said, “Too late is better than never.” His voice was low and soothing. “You could have stood by and done nothing, or you could have given up because you lost everything.”

Raising an eyebrow, Harold scoffed. “Thanks.”   
“What I mean is, lesser men than you would have rolled over and taken the loss. But you got back up and took things into your own hands.” He squeezed Harold’s hand gently. “That’s very brave.”

Harold smiled at John. “I’m glad you see it that way.” He squeezed back and added, “Thank you.”

“Thank you for the donuts,” John replied.

Harold’s eyes flicked back to John’s dog tags. Heart in his throat, he asked, “What don’t you remember?”

John looked away, fingers digging into the sand. “Anything, really. I woke up in the ocean, swam across it, live in it. My life has always been the sea.”

Pursing his lips, Harold shook his head. “You were someone before that.” Their eyes met again. “You used to be someone.” He tilted his head, and his lips parted. “Would you like me to find out for you? To tell you?”

John blinked. It had never been an option before. To find out who he had been, when he’d been human, if he’d ever been human. With the key to his past at his fingertips- or rather, around his neck- his heart began to pound. He swallowed, looking back towards the horizon. He felt just as agitated as the choppy waves, but it didn’t take him long to decide. “Please?”

Harold took a deep breath and nodded. “You saved my life,” he replied, “It’s the least I can do.”

Looking up with eyes of dark aquamarine and gold, John smiled. “Thank you, Harold.”

The way John said his name sent a shiver through him. Clearing his throat, Harold smiled back.

  

Tallis, John H. Missing In Action.

It didn’t take Harold very long to do John’s background check. The story had been somewhat sensational at the time- a talented young soldier vanishing while on leave instead of on the battlefield. John had joined the army to avoid serving a prison sentence. Harold’s lips quirked up at the charges listed and the circumstances of his arrest. How very characteristically John. Harold wasn’t surprised, and he chuckled before reading on.

Impressively, John had made sergeant in only five years. He’d briefly left the army in 2001, only to rejoin in September as many had after the attack on the two towers. He’d done five tours total, four short and one long, all in the Middle East. And then, three months after reenlisting, he’d vanished.

Harold sat back in his chair, processing all the information he’d found. At 35, the only thing John knew was the ocean. It was likely- Harold was tempted to say certain- that whatever had triggered his amnesia had occured around the time of his disappearance in 2001. And with his amnesia came a new home, identity, and way of life.

He didn’t have time to consider the implications. The results for another search concerning a number popped up, and Harold had to set John’s file aside. He would take the file to John another day. For now, someone else needed his help.

He returned to the beach one week later with John’s file in hand. He shivered as he waited for John to appear, the autumn air seeping through his coat and into his skin. He was grateful for the hot tea in his hands, but it did little for his red nose or his mood.

When John emerged, Harold grumbled, “You took your time.”

John tilted his head, lips twitching. As always, he looked comfortable and content to drift around unclothed. “Hello to you too,” he purred, “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

Harold felt himself grow a little flushed at the mention of bed. Sniffling, he answered bitterly, “I can’t feel my face.”

John chuckled. “Cheer up, old man,” he teased, “I got you a present.”

To Harold’s confusion, John ducked around to the other side of the rock. Harold’s brow furrowed. “John?” When the siren didn’t answer, Harold limped after him. He stopped when he saw John, and on the shore, a worn and weathered plastic chair.

John grinned crookedly. “You’d be surprised how long it took me to find a chair at the bottom of the ocean,” he said, “It’s not something people typically lose.”

“You found this… for me?”

“I figured if you were going to keep coming back, you should have somewhere to sit and rest your leg.”

Harold laughed, breathless. He felt the cold fading at John’s thoughtfulness. Trying to contain himself, Harold sat. “Thank you,” he managed.

“It was nothing.” Not very subtly, John inched closer until he was sprawled out at Harold’s feet. Harold’s heart fluttered.

Clearing his throat, Harold opened the folder containing John’s information and handed John a picture of himself in uniform. “Sergeant John Tallis,” he said, tapping the picture, “Enlisted in 1993 to avoid jail time.”

John stared at the photo, lost in thought. He recognized the man in the photo as him. It looked like the face that looked back at him in the surface of the water. But the uniform was completely foreign.

Harold was speaking again. He was reading off John’s service history, from his brief leave of absence in 2001 to his last tour in Iraq.

All at once, images came flooding back. The sound of gunfire, shouting, tactical camo. The images from his dreams, or nightmares, as the case may be. The things he saw when he closed his eyes.   
John stared blankly at the horizon, recalling time spent with the men he’d fought beside- his unit. How had he forgotten such a close bond with the men he had called brothers?

He was pulled from his thoughts by Harold’s hand on his shoulder, and Harold’s voice calling his name. “John?” John looked up into Harold’s eyes. Harold’s eyebrows were knitted together in concern. “Are you all right?”

Sighing, John nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He got closer. “Thank you,” he murmured tenderly.

Harold realized that John had pulled himself up out of the water using the chair’s armrest. His face was suddenly inches away.

“I-It was nothing, r-really,” Harold stammered, heart racing.

“I mean it,” John breathed, “You’re a good man, Harold.” His eyes flicked from Harold’s eyes to Harold’s lips and back. He leaned closer, tongue flicking out between his teeth. “The best man I know,” he added, lips curling into a smile.

“John,” Harold gasped, unable to tear his eyes away from the curve of John’s mouth. “I certainly h-hope that your… your solitude hasn’t… clouded your judgement.”

John froze. Harold could feel John’s breath on his cheek. When John pulled away, it was like a bucket of ice washed over him. John’s eyes were grey and dim, the gold not so bright as it had been moments before.

“You’re right,” John whispered, clenching his jaw, “My mistake.” And just like that, John was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory rest stop. Stretch your legs, get a drink, grab a snack! And then come back to see what happens in part 2 :)


	2. Part 2

Harold cursed himself on the cab ride home. Why had he opened his mouth? Hand pressed against his chin, he stared out the foggy window towards the angry sea that reflected his racing thoughts.

Logically, he knew why. He’d been trying to protect himself, and John, from undue heartache. Harold worried that in all his time alone, John had come to crave attention, and that as the first human he’d interacted with in years, Harold had become the object of false affections. John was projecting his desired onto Harold, whatever he was feeling wasn’t real.

But when John had pulled away and looked at Harold with eyes of muted grey, Harold wanted to take it all back.

Harold couldn’t think of anything else after he arrived home. He didn’t know what John was feeling, or if it was real, but Harold knew what he was feeling. He’d been lonely, and grieving when he met John, and he’d grown rather fond of the siren. He wanted to remove all of John’s hurt, make those shiny blue eyes light up with joy. But that didn’t mean that he wanted John.

Did it?

Harold laid awake that night, mulling over all his questions, feelings, and thoughts. Whatever he was feeling, he knew one thing for certain. He couldn’t stand to leave things as they were. He had to make things right.

  

Harold was waiting on the beach again. John could tell. He could feel the magnetic pull in his chest, calling him towards the shore. Stubbornly, John crossed his arms and huddled closer to the wall, his tail curled towards his chest and his fin wrapped around his back. He closed his eyes, still embarrassed about the last time he’d seen Harold. John mentally berated himself. He’d ruined everything. He’d just wanted to be closer, but Harold had made it very clear that he was wrong.

And yet, Harold was still waiting. John could feel him, for lack of a better word, sitting up on the beach. What was he waiting for? Surely he wasn’t waiting for John, after the incident the day before. But as the sun sank in the sky and the air and the water got cooler, Harold remained.

When the sun was brushing the horizon and Harold still hadn’t left, John finally surfaced, purposefully too far away at first so he could see Harold but Harold couldn’t see him. Harold was sitting in his chair, bundled up against the cold. John swam a little closer. He wasn’t sure Harold was even conscious, and John’s heart skipped a beat. Harold was braving the weather and the elements, for what?

When John was a few yards away, and Harold still hadn’t stirred, John slapped his fin against the water. Harold started awake. His eyes landed on John, once he’d gained his bearings again. “John,” he greeted, “I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

“What are you doing out here?” John asked harshly.

Harold yawned, stretching the stiffness out of his neck. “I must have dozed off. My apologies.”

John pressed his lips together in a thin line. “You shouldn’t have stayed up here so long, you’ll get sick.”

Chuckling, Harold pointed out, “This is awfully reminiscent of our first encounter, isn’t it?” When John just glared, Harold sighed. “I needed to see you.”

“Why?” John tried to keep his voice even, but he couldn’t help sounding bitter. He cast his eyes downward. “I didn’t think you’d want to,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Harold leaned forward, his arms wrapped around himself. “I did. I do.”

Screwing his eyes shut, John swallowed the lump in his throat. “You should go,” he forced himself to say, “It’s too cold for you here.” He turned around, intending to dive back under.

“John.” Harold’s voice froze John in place. He took a deep breath and looked back. Harold was standing now, closer to the water’s edge. “I’m sorry about what I said,” Harold murmured, “I… I didn’t mean it.” He paused, his warm breath steam in the cold air, and gave John a meaningful look. “I think your feelings are real, and… I feel… what I think you’re feeling.” He sighed. “I’m just… I’m not ready to feel it yet.”

John’s eyes softened, and he straightened his shoulders. “I understand,” he replied at long last. “You’re still getting over Grace. Right?” He raised his eyebrows, looking for confirmation.

Harold nodded. “Yes. Yes that’s a part of it.” He couldn’t bring himself to continue. He fiddled with his gloves, looked down at the sand. Finally, he asked, “Do you forgive me?”

He looked up. John was smiling at him. “Only if you forgive me, too,” John replied, his voice full of hope.

“Of course,” Harold answered quickly. “Always, John.”

  

Harold made one more visit to the beach before Halloween. The air continued to chill and all the trees were wholly bare, but Harold wanted- needed- to see John again.

He didn’t even have to wait for John to appear at their spot, with John’s rock and Harold’s chair. He felt his chest loosen at the sight of the siren, and the way he swam up so eagerly to greet him. “Unseasonably warm for October,” Harold commented, taking a seat, “although it won’t affect the amount of scantily clad girls, I imagine.”

John chuckled. “Will you be handing out candy this year?”

Shaking his head, Harold answered, “I live a very private life, John. No room for trick-or-treaters. Or much of anything social, really.” He glanced at John’s tail dragging across the sand. “You could go to a beach party, though. You don’t even need a costume.”

Eyes gleaming, John teased, “And let you have all the fun of hanging around alone? You wish.”

Harold smiled at the banter that had become so familiar. They’d both opened up, it seemed.

John maneuvered onto shore with one arm, clutching something tightly in his other hand. Harold glanced at him curiously. “What have you got there?” he asked, voice playful and eyes twinkling.

To Harold’s amusement, John actually _blushed,_ and he fiddled with the object before holding it up to Harold without looking at it. “S’for you,” he mumbled.

Carefully, Harold took it. It was an oyster that had been cracked open. John had been holding the two halves together. Harold took the top half between his thumb and forefinger and removed it. Inside the shell was a stunning pearl.

“You can eat the meat,” John was saying, “but it’s not as good as donuts. I thought this was the next best thing.”

“Where did you find this?” Harold breathed.

“Up near Long Island, I think.”

Harold’s eyes widened. “You swam all the way up to Long Island for this?!”

Chuckling, John answered, “I don’t have a real job, Harold. I can go to Long Island whenever I want.”

“I suppose, but…” Harold reached in to touch the pearl. The chair was one thing- a kind gesture, for Harold’s benefit, but this…”I can’t believe you went all that way.”

“Yeah, well… I wanted to. For you.”

Their eyes met, and Harold smiled. Fondness swelled in his chest. Saying thanks seemed to redundant, too plain, so instead, Harold leaned over and brushed his lips against John’s forehead. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured when he pulled away.

To his satisfaction, it was John’s turn to be flushed and flustered. John blinked, cleared his throat, ran his fingers through his hair, before hiding the beginnings of a smile behind his hand.  
Harold grinned, looking out at the ocean and pocketing the oyster to cart it safely home. He placed his arm on the armrest, his wrist brushing John’s bare shoulder. Harold didn’t breathe.

A few moments later, John reached up and tangled his fingers with Harold’s. They sat like that and watched the sunset, until it was too dark for Harold to stay.

  

Winter came in like a lion, fierce and unforgiving, and Harold couldn’t make it to the cold and icy beach anymore. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and the cold wreaked havoc on his leg. As much as he wanted to return to the ocean, Harold remained citybound.

Harold settled for sending messages in bottles down the river to the sea. He could only hope that his apologetic letters reached John safely, and that the violent sea hadn’t brought John to any harm. He wrote as often as he could, when he wasn’t busy with the Machine.

In case a stranger happened to intercept his messages, Harold did his best to be vague, writing as one would to a departed loved one. He wrote and rewrote his first letter at least a dozen times, searching for the right words. When he was finally satisfied with the results, it read:

_“To my John,_

_I wish you were here._ _  
_ _The weather makes me think of the day you and I met. Not the first time, when you saw me but I didn’t see you. It reminds me of the second time, and the third. I would go back to the sea if I could, just to be closer to you._

_The air is cold again today, but I doubt it would have bothered you. I’m sad that you cannot be here to hold me and keep me warm._

_Yours, H.”_

He sent it away in an empty green bottle at the pier, as close as he could get to the water anymore. He would have stayed to watch it float away, but duty beckoned.

With the wind and snow came his latest number, Miss Lyra Shon. Miss Shon was a student at Columbia University, majoring in folklore and mythology. It was ironic, Harold thought to himself as he watched her poring over books, taking notes, and chewing on her lower lip in concentration. Harold’s latest number was studying creatures that nobody thought existed. And mere feet away (posing as a University librarian) was a person who knew for a fact they did. He smiled to himself as he shelved books and kept an eye on the Machine’s latest quarry.

At the end of the night, Miss Shon logged out of the computer she’d been using to work on her thesis and headed towards the exit. Harold poked his head out from behind the shelves. He was about to follow when the computer chimed. He glanced at the screen to see an open document- Miss Shon’s thesis. That didn’t make any sense- she’d logged out after removing the flash drive with the file on it and taken it with her, but Harold could clearly see her name on the header.

Harold gasped softly when he saw the title.

**THE MYTHOS OF MERMAIDS**

**Merfolk, Sirens, and the Facts and Fiction of Mythical Sea-Dwelling Creatures Through the Ages**

Harold glanced at the security camera in the corner of the room. “You knew,” he murmured, only loud enough to be heard by the Machine, “She wasn’t a victim or a perpetrator, she was a source.” The red dot blinked at him knowingly. “You saw John at the pier. You know what happened to him, what he is.”

The printer to his right whirred to life, and produced a copy of Miss Shon’s paper before the computer screen went dark. Hurriedly, Harold took it and tucked it into his laptop case next to the information he’d compiled on Miss Shon. Glancing back at the camera, he nodded his thanks before rushing home to do some late night reading.

  

  

John stayed at Brighton Beach, against his better judgement. When November rolled around, he usually moved south to warmer waters. But because of Harold, John remained.

But Harold had stopped coming to the beach. John honestly didn’t blame him, with how viciously the weather had turned. And then one day, John received a message. A handwritten note, stuffed into a bottle.

He’d been half asleep, a coping mechanism against the cold like frogs in frozen lakes, to slow his heart rate and pass the time, when he was called to the surface again. With bleary eyes, he swam up, bracing against the cold, and that’s where he found the bottle.

He leaned against the rock to read it, holding it above the water to keep the paper dry. “ _To my John_ ,” it read. John’s heart caught in his throat. _My John._ It had a nice ring to it, he thought. He kept reading. “ _I wish you were here…_ ”

John’s cheeks were warm and damp when he finally finished reading the note for the third or fourth time. He’d lost count. Gingerly, he rebottled the message, and held it close to his heart. Harold hadn’t forgotten him. John added some rocks to the bottle so he could bring it down to his cave and keep it by his side.

John received several more notes in the winter months, each of which he kept and cherished. Some were short, and made him smile (like the one about how good ice cream tasted even in January) and others made him ache with longing.  
“ _They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I speak from experience when I say they’re right. But I also speak from experience when I say it hurts like hell anyway. I don’t need absence to be any more fond of you, my John._ ”

The letter he received in February was his favorite. It came in a fancy red bottle filled with tea leaves. John recognized it as sencha green tea, Harold’s favorite. He smelled the leaves on his hardest days, and pictured Harold sitting in his chair, drinking his tea and holding John’s hand. John’s heart fluttered at the thought of Harold thinking of him.

John read the note dozens of times. By the time the ice had finally started to thaw, its edges had become tattered and wrinkled, and the ink faded.

_“To my John:_

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_When I see violets_

_I think of you_

_I miss you more with each passing day. The more time I spend without you, the more I wish there was a way to be with you. If you feel the same, take heart. I believe I’ve learned a thing or two that could make the future better for us both._

_I’ll see you when the snow melts._

_Love, H.”_

Two things in that letter echoed around John’s head. The first was whatever Harold had learned that could “make the future better.” What did that mean? John’s stomach flipped whenever he thought of all the possibilities, so instead he tried to focus on the second thing.

The second thing was the signature. “ _Love, H._ ” Harold had used the word “love.” Did he really mean it? He wouldn’t have used it if he hadn’t meant it. He’d never used it before. Why now? What had changed? “ _Love, H._ ” Harold loved him. Or at least, John hoped he did.

When curiosity and questions made his mind race, John would focus on the poem instead. He would lay on his shelf, close his eyes, and murmur the words out loud to himself. “Roses are red, violets are blue. When I see violets, I think of you.”

John would whisper the words over and over again until finally he would fall back to sleep.

  

“ _For many years, humans have been fascinated by the perception of beings that present as part human, part creature. Something otherworldly and magical, beyond our imaginations._ ”

Harold skipped forward a couple pages. He wasn’t interested in the fictional portrayals of mermaids and sirens, including animated films for children adapted from grim fairy tales. Miss Shon rambled on about the early appearances of mermaid imagery, the foundations for sailors’ wild fantasies, and the much contested theories of historians concerning the role of manatees.

**“SECTION VII: Siren Folklore and Its Application**

_Unlike the mermaids of lore, sirens were more predatory in nature, actively luring in and hunting their victims. Where mermaids would sit on the shore in wait, sirens would swim up and down coast lines in search of the broken-hearted._ ”

Harold paused. John certainly hadn’t been a predator, and he hadn’t done any luring. But Harold’s heart had most definitely been broken. Palms sweating, Harold read on.

“ _When an individual with a heart so broken he or she could no longer carry on came along, sirens would sing an alluring melody, offering a chance at a new life, away from heartbreak among the waves. Hypnotized, these individuals would walk into the sea, and receive the siren’t curse._ ”

Harold swallowed. Had John really been cursed? More importantly, had John really been so heartbroken he could no longer go on living? If he had, did Harold really want to find out why?

“ _When the siren’s curse is cast, the broken-hearted human loses all their memories and becomes a siren. The siren, in turn, becomes human again, and regains the memories of their previous life._ ”

That explained John’s amnesia. He must have been cursed in 2001, the year he’d disappeared.

 _The siren, in turn, becomes human again._ So the curse could be transferred, but that was an ethical grey area that Harold didn’t want to enter. Frantically, he searched the pages.

“ _The siren song originates from…_ ”

Skip.

“ _Many cultures view these mythical beings as…_ ”

_Skip._

_“There is another way for the siren’s curse to be lifted.”_

Harold’s heart leapt. Anxiously, he kept reading, his heart rate climbing with each page he finished, until finally he reached the conclusion.

_“Of course, this is all hypothetical and in the case of…”_

Harold cast the thesis aside, having gleaned all he could from its pages. What mattered was there was a way to break the siren’s curse. It was risky, Miss Shon had warned, if one wasn’t absolutely certain.

Was Harold certain? After all this time, was he sure that this was what he wanted? He wanted John to join him on land, yes, god yes, but once the curse was lifted, the siren’s memories returned, and that was what had Harold worried. What if John remembered why his heart was broken and didn’t want to stay? What if John was a different man, and Harold didn’t recognize him?  
What if John was a man who didn’t love Harold?

  

To his own surprise, Harold put off returning to Brighton Beach as long as possible. He wanted to see John- of course he did, Harold loved him- but the apprehension of the revelations his research would bring twisted his stomach into knots. So while the winter frost faded away halfway through the month of March, Harold remained safely inland until the first cloudy day of April, Sunday the 3rd.

He brought flowers- the first of the season- alongside all of his research. It seemed a feeble offering in the face of what he was about to do, but it was all he had. Cane in one hand and flowers in the other, Harold limped to the waterfront like a soldier to war.

It only took a moment for John to pop up out of the water. Heart pounding, Harold attempted a smile. “John.” His voice came out softer than he would have liked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You look well.”

John looked exactly as Harold remembered him, emerging from the sea like Poseidon. How like a schoolgirl, Harold chided himself, to see the object of his affections and compare him to a Greek god. But he couldn’t help it. After not seeing John for five months, seeing him again was like coming home and staring into the sun all at once.

“You took your time,” John said, parroting Harold’s words from last October. He said it teasingly, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Harold faltered. “What’s wrong?”  
John moved sluggishly as he pulled himself out of the water, and only then did Harold notice that something was off. John looked a little paler and thinner than he had. Even his tail flopped sadly against the sand, and his scales didn’t glimmer quite so bright. Harold’s heart hurt when he saw the color of John’s eyes, a dull and steely grey.

“Where were you?” John asked.

Quickly, Harold knelt next to the water as best he could and reached out to touch John’s face. He was freezing. “John-”

“The snow’s been melted for weeks,” John intoned. His lips were pale and blue like he was hypothermic and frostbitten, but he didn’t seem to care. “I was worried that.. I thought something might have…”

Harold rushed to take off his scarf and wrap it around John’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” John, he murmured. The cold had never bothered John before. Had winter at sea been that much worse? “I shouldn’t have kept you waiting. I didn’t realize-”

John shook his head, cutting Harold off. “L’be fine.” Already the color was returning to his cheeks, and the gleam to his eyes. Almost as if being in close proximity to Harold was… _healing_ him…

Rubbing John’s shoulders to stimulate blood flow and get him warm, Harold asked, “Did you stay here all winter?”

John nodded. “Waited for you.” He looked down at the flowers that had fallen to the sand, forgotten. “Why’d you wait so long?”

Harold stood and pulled his chair closer so he could sit and rummage in his bag. “Because,” he answered, “I found something.”

Scooting closer, John eyed the bag with curiosity. “The things you learned in February?”

Harold paused a looked up, a smile breaking over his face. “You received my message.”

John cracked a smile. “I got them all,” he murmured, “Treasured every word.”

At last, Harold produced Miss Shon’s paper. “The Machine led me to a girl,” he said. He could hardly breathe for how his heart was racing. He held out the paper. “She was writing this.”

John took the paper with one eyebrow raised. “A thesis?”  
Harold nodded. “A compilation of all the available information on merfolk and sirens.”

Flipping through the pages, John skimmed the section titles. “This is what you were so preoccupied with.”

“Yes, it was very informative.” Harold tapped the top of the page. “And Miss Shon took a realist approach.”

John closed the paper and dropped it back in Harold’s lap. “You have the authority of an actual siren,” he pointed out, “and you’re going to trust the homework of a college student?”

“The Machine wouldn’t have led me to her if her work wasn’t viable,” Harold argued.

“Your Machine is programmed to protect humans,” John protested, “There’s nothing in its source code about sirens.”

Pursing his lips, Harold said, “Be that as it may, Miss Shon drew from reputable source material.” He turned to section VII and started reading out loud. “When an individual with a heart so broken he or she could no longer carry on came along, sirens would sing an alluring song.” He jabbed the paragraph with his index finger for emphasis. “She took that from a published novel by a qualified professor.”

John blinked. “Wait, say that last bit again?”

“Dr. Sokuji Miso, she’s a university teacher with-”

“No, no, the part about the curse.”

Harold looked down at the paper. “A broken heart can be seen from the sea, and the siren will sing a song of invitation-”

All at once, John was drowning in memories and melodies. “I remember,” he gasped, staring out at the water unseeing, “I remember it all.”

__

_Kuwait City, Kuwait. December 2001._

_John stared into the bottom of his glass. He wasn’t quite sure how many drinks he’d had, but it didn’t much matter. He flagged down the bartender to pour him another one._

_One of John’s unit buddies came up behind him and slugged him in the shoulder, already inebriated. “C’mon Sarge,” he bellowed, “Lighten up!”_

_“Sorry, Marvin.” John gratefully took his fresh drink and raised it in Marvin’s direction. “Cheers.”_

_Marvin hopped up on the barstool beside John. “What’s got you looking so glum? Don’t tell me you’re homesick for the field already.”_

_Frankly, John had been more comfortable out on duty than he was sitting at the bar trying to make nice and be merry. Working kept his mind off things, kept him busy._

_Shrugging, John fiddled with his glass. “Just not feeling very festive tonight.”_

_Marvin’s voice softened. “Hey, whatsamatter?” He leaned on the bar and studied John’s face, swaying slightly._

_After a moment, John sighed. “I had a girl back home,” he answered, “Her name’s Jessica. She… well, she was good. Broke it off before I shipped out. I’d kind of been hoping to take her somewhere romantic around the holidays this year.”_

_“Heavy,” Marvin said. He patted John on the back in an attempt at comfort. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t rat you out to the boys as being a big softie.”_

_John chuckled. “Thanks, Marv.”_

_Marvin’s attention was called away by a band of his friends, and he hurried off to mingle and drink more. John polished off what was left of his drink and closed out his tab. There was too much merriment going on for how gloomy he felt. Bah-humbug._

_John wandered out into the night, drinking in the crisp evening air. It was nothing like Christmas back home. He liked it that way. The further he could distance himself from home, the better._

_He started walking, for no other reason than to escape the music and laughter pouring out of the bar. At best, he’d find his way back before dawn. At worst, he’d pass out somewhere along the shore and get a stern reprimand when he returned half-soaked and hungover. He didn’t really care either way. The soft hiss of the waves and the sliding sand beneath his feet was soothing, and he followed the waterline away from the city lights and all the city’s people. Before too long, he found himself alone._

_Staring out at the dark water, John wondered what Jessica was doing. He wondered if she was out with friends like he had been, drinking and celebrating and talking and laughing. He wondered if she had chosen to stay home, curled up in front of the tree with a book. He wondered if maybe she’d met someone, to keep her warm and kiss her under the mistletoe._

_The thought made John’s heart ache. He knew she was better off without him, without worrying if she’d ever see him again. She deserved better. But it still hurt like hell._

_A sound, haunting and melodic, drew him closer to the water. He stepped towards the ocean’s edge, his boots sinking in the sand. It sounded like singing. He squinted at the waves. It was difficult to see anything under the cover of night, but then he saw, without a doubt, a woman in the water._

_John blinked. There was a woman, floating out in the water, watching him. She was olive-skinned with black hair floating down around her shoulders, drifting in curls on the water’s surface. Smiling, she let herself sink down until she disappeared._

_Holding his breath, John waited. At first, he’d been confused, but as he stared at the place where the woman had been, the more his concern grew. Where had she gone? Why wasn’t she coming up for air? Cursing, John started to strip, tearing off his jacket and then his boots. When he was down to his underclothes, he rushed forward and dove into the water._

_The water was frigid, and he tensed against the cold. He swam out a few yard and was immediately distracted by the singing again. Impossibly, it was even louder under the waves than it had been on shore. His eyes darted around, now searching for the source of the sound instead of the woman he’d jumped in to save._

_All at once, she rose before him. When he saw her, he cried out, his yelp escaping him in a flurry of bubbles. She was stunning up close, with a delicate frame, full lips, and enchanting dark eyes. But what caught him by surprise was the long golden tail that started where her waist ended and her hips began. John stared in awe as it swayed lazily, the fins curling under and back, the scales shimmering like coins._

_John’s lungs started to burn. Remembering where he was, he started to swim towards the surface, but she stopped him with a hand on his upper arm. She was surprisingly strong as she pulled him back down to her. The singing grew louder, and he saw her lips moving. The music was coming from her. It was a strange, haunting song in Arabic, and he understood very little, but he suddenly felt very calm. He could stay here. The water was quiet and all-encompassing. He was safe._

_The woman- mermaid- was smiling again. She ran a hand along the side of his face, ran her fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered shut. Something warm and soft pressed against his lips. She was kissing him. Everything slipped away, and the water carried him into darkness…_

  

“The last thing I remembered was her singing,” John said, staring out at the waves like he could see her, “Just her voice. I woke up like this.” He splashed his tail. “I knew the song and all the words, but nothing else.”

Harold watched John with his mouth agape. “What was she singing?” he asked in a whisper, as if he was afraid to shatter the air around them.

Softly, John started to sing. “ _Oh broken-hearted one, your soul grows so weary. Are you tired? Come and rest. Are you weary? Be unburdened. Let the sea bear away your past and all your pain.”_

Harold had closed his eyes to listen. It was a sweet and melancholy tune that made him feel safe and lonely at the same time. When John fell silent, he opened his eyes. “You were broken-hearted over Jessica,” Harold commented, recalling her name.

John nodded. “I was. The second I forgot about her, I felt lighter. Free. There was nothing but me and the ocean. And this foce that pulled me back home.” He leaned back on his elbows and glanced at the city skyline. “I swam for days, singing and eating fish. I didn’t know where I was going, but it didn’t matter. Sirens don’t have responsibilities. No dates, no deadlines.”

“You weren’t lonely?”

“There were other creatures,” John responded, shrugging, “I swam with them. There were whales and dolphins. And there were birds.” He smiled at the thought of birds, like gulls and pelicans, and finches. “And when I got back to New York, I watched people.”

Harold shook his head. “All you did was people watch for _eight years?”_

Chuckling, John replied, “I learned a lot that way. How to read people, how to act like different people. How to lie to people. And… I travelled. Swam up and down the coast, across the border.” His smile faded, and he furrowed his brow. “I started to feel… wrong, when I went too far south. I think… I think the last time I saw Jess was down south. So I swam back home again.” John looked at Harold with smiling blue eyes. “Then I met you.”

“The day of the bombing.” Harold dug around in the sand with his cane. He drew a J, and an H. “I wonder…” he murmured.

John traced the letters with the tips of his fingers. His hand brushed Harold’s leg. “Wonder what?”

“If all of that writing about the siren’s kiss and losing your memories was true,” Harold answered, “then maybe the rest of it is, too.”

  

“What do you mean?” John asked, his shoulder resting against Harold’s knee.

Harold adjusted his glasses before flipping through the paper again, his hands trembling slightly. He turned to section VIII: “The Siren’s Curse and How to Lift It.” Adjusting his glasses again, he said, “The paper has a passage about breaking the curse.”

John sat up, the gold in his eyes glittering. “The curse can be broken? I could be human again?”

“Yes,” Harold answered cautiously, “You could pass the curse on to someone else.”

Clenching his jaw, John shook his head, his eyes flashing. “Absolutely not.”

“Just listen to me.” Harold reached down to put a hand on John’s shoulder. John calmed a little, barely releasing his tightly drawn muscles. Harold continued, “The siren that kissed you was once human, too. She was broken-hearted once, and a siren cursed her, and that siren was cursed, too. She found you when your heart was broken and passed the curse onto you. So if you were to kiss a human with a broken heart, they would become a siren and you would become a human.”

John shook his head again. “I won’t curse anyone,” he growled, vehement.

“You won’t have to,” Harold assured him, “The rest of the passage is about a way to break the curse _instead_ of transferring it, but it’s rare because siren’t so rarely reveal themselves to humans.” Looking out at the open water because he couldn’t look at John, Harold said, “Dr. Miso wrote that the curse could be broken by true love’s kiss.”

John could have laughed at how childish and romantic and fairy tale it all sounded if his heart wasn’t in his throat and he could barely breathe. “That actually exists?” he managed.

“According to Miss Shon’s work, yes. All her research indicates that it could work.”

They both fell into silence, staring at the choppy waves. Rays of sunshine had broken through the cloud cover, and pools of light bounced over the water. John swished his tail, disturbing the silt below. Harold pulled his coat closer about his neck. The wind whistled past as they considered the implications.

Harold was the one to break the silence. “So… if that’s what you want… you should kiss me.”

“... What?”

“You should kiss me,” Harold echoed.

John rolled onto his front and leaned on the arm rest, his tail casting another wave across the water. “Harold…”  
“I’ve thought it over,” Harold interrupted, his voice thick, “and if you want to be human again, this is the best way.”

John swallowed. “What if it isn’t true love’s kiss?” he whispered.

Harold shrugged. “Then I would assume the curse would be passed on, but John-”

“No,” John hissed, “I won’t risk you losing your memory.” John’s eyes were glistening. “Your work is too important.” He reached up to squeeze Harold’s hand, still resting lightly on his shoulder. “You’re somebody the world can’t afford to lose.”

Harold cupped John’s face with his free hand. “It is true love’s kiss,” he insisted, “John, what do you think brought us together?”

Blinking, John answered, “I was drawn to the pier, your broken heart must have called to me…”  
Harold shook his head. “My heart wasn’t broken until after,” he said, “And after that day, I couldn’t stay away from the sea. John… there are hundreds of broken hearts between Kuwait and New York, and you didn’t pass the curse on to any of them.” He smiled. “And when you met a broken heart face to face, you didn’t lure me in.”

Shaking his head, John added, “But if the curse is passed on to a broken heart, can you lift the curse at all?”

Harold’s thumb stroked John’s cheek. “It’s not broken, anymore.” He tilted his head fondly. “You saved me, mended my heart, and now… now it belongs to you.”

John’s emotions welled up and spilled over onto his cheeks. “I left my old life behind me,” he murmured, “What now?”

“You can start a new life with me?” Harold suggested.

Looking up at Harold, John’s uncertainty melted away. He didn’t remember who he was before, but whoever he became, he wanted to be with Harold. There was just one more thing he needed to know.  
“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

Harold nodded. “As sure as I’ve ever been.”

In one swift movement, John lifted himself up and pulled Harold down by the collar, capturing Harold’s lips in a tender kiss.

  

John kissed like the sea.

John tasted like a memory of the ocean, but his lips were sweet and warm against Harold’s. He pushed and pulled like the tides, and Harold was drowning.

Harold kissed like a bird. He was soft and nervous and gentle. His eyelashes fluttered like wings against John’s skin, and John felt as light as a feather.

The wind howled around them, a storm from nowhere rushing to shore. The sky darkened. The waves crashed on the beach, and the water roared at the sky.

John suddenly felt cold and wet, like _soaking_ wet. He opened his eyes and pulled away. Harold’s eyes were still closed in rapture, and for a moment, John worried that something had gone wrong. But when he looked down, he saw two pairs of legs- one pair belonging to Harold, and one pair belonging to him.

Legs instead of a tail, an undershirt and shorts instead of scales. John was kneeling in the sand in front of Harold’s chair. He wiggled his toes experimentally, laughing at the feeling of sand between them.

“John?” Harold said, having finally come back to his senses. John looked at Harold, who was studying him carefully. “How do you feel?” Harold asked.

Chuckling, John propped himself up and kissed Harold all over. “It worked,” he breathed between each kiss.

Harold’s grin widened and he caught John’s hands in his own. “It worked,” he echoed. He stopped John with a hand over his heart. “What do you remember?”

John paused, thinking back. He remembered his childhood now, and joining the army, and Jessica. It hurt and felt good and made him want to laugh and cry. But he also remembered waiting for Harold every day, and he remembered the warmth in his chest every time they were together.

Harold’s brow was furrowed, his eyes wide and his lips pressed tightly shut. Smiling, John answered, “You. I remember you.” He pulled Harold in for another kiss before whispering, “I love you, Harold.”

Harold laughed, a sound of relief and joy. “I love you, too.”

They pressed their foreheads together. The tides had calmed, the wind fading to a light, misty breeze. Harold breathed in John’s presence. John, who had given him so much. For as many reservations as he’d had, Harold had always wanted to save John from the dark waters of the ocean.

John had saved him first, after all.

Harold’s thoughts were interrupted by John shivering. Harold’s eyes flew open, and he exclaimed, “Oh dear, you must be freezing!” The scarf had fallen down around John’s arms and offered little protection. Harold removed his overcoat and wrapped it around John, pulling him closer. Now that John was human, he had no supernatural protection from the elements, and all the adrenaline had worn off.

“W-what about y-you?” John asked, his teeth chattering slightly.

Harold chuckled. “Always worrying about everyone else. I’ll be fine.”

Smiling, John revelled in the lingering warmth. “Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you,” Harold replied.

“What f-for?”

Searching John’s face, Harold sighed. “After the bombing, I wondered if I had anything to go back to. I even wondered why I had lived while Nathan had died. I started working on the Machine, to use it for good, but you… you made me realize that there’s good in this world worth saving.”

Harold smiled at him, and John couldn’t keep from laughing. “Don’t go getting all soft on me now, Harold,” he teased, “You’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

Harold chuckled before clearing his throat. “About that…”

John watched him closely, still smiling. Harold was irresistible when he was flustered. “What is it?” John asked, his eyes following Harold as he shifted.

“I was wondering,” Harold muttered, removing and cleaning his glasses. He put them back on before continuing, “With you returning to humanity, I was thinking I might… well, I was wondering if you would be interested in a job.”

 

__

_Epilogue_

John still wanders the beach sometimes, unable to stay away for long periods at a time. The sea doesn’t call him back so much as invites him to linger. Harold will find John sitting on the docks, watching the waves. Harold sits with him until he’s ready to come back home.

John’s eyes still shimmer when it rains. They’re not the same iridescent blue, but they’re still just as deep, and Harold swears that they still grow darker when John gets angry or hurt. And when John’s happy, Harold thinks he sees his eyes flash gold.

John still loves to swim. His new apartment complex has a pool- Harold makes sure of it personally, and John loves him all the more for it. Nothing compares to the feeling of the water against his skin, cool and clean.

These few small things about John’s siren form still inger, but John is very much the same as a human, to Harold’s great relief. Harold had worried that when John regained his memory, he might not be the man Harold fell in love with. But John is just as flirtatious and cheeky, and just as loving as he was before.

One morning while Harold’s making breakfast, John pads up behind him, wrapping his arms around Harold’s waist and burying his head in the crook of Harold’s neck. “G’morning, handsome,” he purrs, still foggy with sleep.

Harold smile. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully. What’s for breakfast?”

“Cod and anchovies.”

John stops nuzzling his face against Harold and tenses. “Cod?” he echoes uncertainly.

Chuckling, Harold replies, “Relax, I’m only kidding. I’m making pancakes and bacon.” He sets aside the bowl of batter he’d been stirring, and turns around to kiss John on the nose. “I even made coffee.”

Humming, John kisses Harold on the lips. “Love you,” he sighs before pulling away and going to pour himself a cup.

“Love you, too,” Harold replies, returning to his work.

John sits down at the kitchen counter. He sips his coffee and watches Harold shuffling around the kitchen. He smiles into his mug, happiness bubbling in his chest.

When Harold turns around, he catches John staring at him, his eyes flashing gold. “What?” Harold asks, “Do I have something on my face?”

John beckons Harold closer with a crooked finger and pulls him forward for another kiss. When it breaks, he jokes, “Just me.”

“Ha ha,” Harold says, but he’s smiling anyway. “Now let me go or the bacon is going to burn.”  
John complies, smirking. Setting aside his coffee, he asks, “What’s on the roster for today?”

Without missing a beat, Harold reaches over and grabs a file from the other side of the stove. He tosses it over to John, who opens it and starts reading. “Diane Hansen,” Harold says, as he pours the pancake batter into uniform circles. “She’s an Assistant District Attorney. Miss Hansen is currently working a very prominent case…”

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple of references to the webcomic Siren's Lament in here, which I took heavy inspiration from. The number, Lyra Shon, comes from two of the main characters of the comic, Lyra and Shon, and professor Sokuji Miso is actually instantmiso, the author of the webcomic (sokuji meaning "immediate" in Japanese).
> 
> It's so weird to finally make this dream a reality! I great big thanks to my beta reader, DesireeArmfeldt, and my artist Michaelssw0rd, who both did incredible work. Thanks to all of the friends who cheered me on and kept me motivated. This was such a fantastic experience, and I am so grateful to everyone who made it possible. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Steadfast Like the Sea.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513388) by [Michaelssw0rd-art (Michaelssw0rd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd-art)




End file.
